Fault
by elbcw
Summary: Porthos should not cheat at cards and Aramis should learn to think before he speaks. But who is really at fault?
1. Chapter 1

Fault

Chapter one

Aramis opened his eyes. He did not know where he was. It was dimly lit where he was and it was not particularly warm and it was a bit damp. He was not wearing his doublet. He worked out he was lying on the floor, a stone floor. And his head hurt. Why did his head hurt? He had no recollection of how he had come to be wherever he was. And why was he looking at Porthos' boots? He realised he was lying on his side with his head on Porthos' lap and that the big man's hand was resting on his shoulder.

'Why am I lying on you?'

'You were unconscious and I wanted you to be as comfortable as I could make you,' came the slightly gruff reply.

'Well now that I am awake might I be permitted to sit up?'

The hand on his shoulder moved and Aramis was able, with some help, to sit himself up and lean against the wall next to his friend. Porthos looked at him intently for a few seconds until satisfied that he was not going to keel over.

'What happened?'

'You don't remember?' replied Porthos, worried.

'The last thing I remember was being in the tavern watching you play cards.'

'Oh.'

'Oh?'

Porthos did not reply. He looked straight ahead. Aramis thought for a moment, although he still did not remember what had happened a few things occurred to him.

'Were you cheating?'

Still no reply.

'Did you get caught cheating?'

Even in the dim light Aramis could see that Porthos had a rather guilty expression.

'Did we get into a fight with whoever you cheated…and they won…and now they have us here?'

'Yes,' sighed Porthos.

'At least tell me there were plenty of them, I don't want to think I was beaten easily?'

Finally, Porthos turned to Aramis and with a slight smile said, 'you were hit from behind, no way you could 'ave avoided it.'

'And then they threatened to kill me so you just let them take us prisoner?'

Another sigh, 'yes.'

'Any idea where we are, or who you cheated?'

'No. Blindfolded on the way here, I couldn't keep track of the turns, but it wasn't a long journey so we must still be near the centre of Paris. I don't know who he is. But I think he's rich. He 'ad enough men to take us out easily.'

'Have you tried to escape?'

'You were unconscious.'

'So?'

'Was I supposed to carry you out?'

'You could have left me.'

'No,' Porthos replied firmly.

'Well let's see if we can get out now then shall we?' said Aramis as he began to stand up. A wave of dizziness coming over him at the sudden movement causing him to topple over, only just being caught before crashing into the hard floor.

'Woah…you need to take it easy for a bit,' said Porthos as he eased his injured friend back down. He kept hold of Aramis for a few seconds until the marksman had regained his equilibrium.

'At least try the door?' asked Aramis when the room had stopped spinning.

Porthos got to his feet and walked over to the corner of the room. He climbed the five steps up to the door and tried the handle. It remained closed. He looked back at Aramis as if to ask if he was satisfied with the escape attempt. Aramis shrugged his shoulders and smiled. The door looked heavy and reinforced, even Porthos would not be able to shove it open.

'At least we know now.'

Porthos sat back down heavily by his friend.

'I'm sorry,' he said glancing at Aramis before returning to stare at the opposite wall.

'What for?'

'Getting you hurt and captured.'

'So you are admitting that this is your fault?'

'Yes.'

Aramis smirked.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Aramis spoke again.

'You know, you don't need to feel too guilty. It's not like I've never landed us in trouble before.'

'True.'

'But you are allowed to feel a bit guilty.'

Porthos bumped Aramis with his shoulder slightly in reply.

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Treville looked down on the sparring cadets. He was impressed, there were some promising men. A few were going to be as good as his best Musketeers in a few years.

Thinking of his best Musketeers he glanced around trying to spot them. He knew none of the four were on guard duty today and should be cajoling the new recruits, imparting wisdom or beating them to the ground in the case of Porthos.

He spotted two of them sat at the bench, both looking towards the garrison entrance. Athos and d'Artagnan looked a little concerned. Their concern sparked Treville to feel the same. He walked down the stairs and over to the two musketeers. They stood as he approached, he waved a hand for them to sit back down.

'Where are they?' he asked, not needing to explain who he meant.

'I have not seen them since last night,' said Athos not even bothering to hide his concern, his eyes returning to their constant vigil on the entrance.

'Last I saw of Aramis was after dinner, he said he was off to the tavern to join Porthos. Something about a good game Porthos had going.'

Athos turned to d'Artagnan, 'cards,' it was more of a statement than a question.

They were all well aware of Porthos' love of card games and gambling. He won and lost with equal pleasure. But when he wanted to win he would cheat. More than once he had been caught and then got to enjoy a brawl, or the occasional retreat. And generally, where Porthos was getting into trouble Aramis was not far behind, or vice versa.

Treville sighed and rolled his eyes, they were incorrigible.

'Go and find them,' he said, sweeping his arm in the direction of the garrison gates in an invitation for them to leave.

Athos and d'Artagnan did not need to be told twice.

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He had been sat in silence for some time, lost in thought. Aramis was dozing beside him, probably still suffering with at least a headache, if not a concussion. He thought back to the brief fight in the alley by the tavern. They had been doing well until, the other cheated card player had callously hit Aramis from behind, it had been all over in seconds after that. The brief distraction had been enough for Porthos to be disarmed and several swords pointed at him whilst the man that had been so upset to be cheated pointed a gun at Aramis' as he lay unconscious on the ground.

They had made Porthos carry the injured man to a carriage. Porthos had been relived to feel his friends steady breathing as he did so. After rather unceremoniously dumping his friend on the floor of the carriage he had been blindfolded, his weapons removed, and had his hands tied behind him. They had manoeuvred him into the carriage and the short journey had begun.

He had tried to keep track of where they were going but it had been useless. When they pulled him out of the carriage he had no idea where he was. He had been roughly walked a short distance and stopped for a few minutes. He could hear other men walking passed him and into a building down some steps. A gun had been pressed to his neck with a warning not to try anything as his hands had been untied and doublet had been roughly pulled off. The blindfold was removed and he was pushed forward only just spotting the steps in time to prevent himself from falling down them.

The door had been shut behind him. In the dim light, he saw Aramis lying where he had obviously been dumped on the floor, also divested of his doublet and weapons. Realising he could not do anything until his friend regained consciousness he had resigned himself to the wait, making Aramis as comfortable as he could in the meantime.

Now they were sat side by side waiting. For what he did not know. Cheating at cards just came so easily, having lived in The Court of Miracles he had picked up all the tricks he could. Normally it was the Red Guard, they were so stupid they rarely even suspected. But every once in a while, someone noticed. Usually, a swift retreat or a quick fist fight would be in order. Not this time. This time he had clearly cheated the wrong man. And now Aramis was injured because of him. And they were both being held in a dank room somewhere.

The sound of the door being unbolted caused Aramis to awaken with a start. They both watched as the door opened. Daylight flooded in causing them both to blink at the sudden brightness. Several men entered the small room. Porthos recognised some from the night before, including the man he had cheated.

'Get up,' said the man. He was tall and well dressed. His features conveyed only anger. A scar crossed his face from left to right, it was an old scar, the man was lucky to still have both eyes.

Neither Porthos nor Aramis moved.

'I said: Get up!'

Four of the other men stepped forward and pulled both the musketeers to their feet. Porthos looked over at Aramis, worried he may not be ready for such rough handling, but the marksman remained upright shaking off the two men who had pulled him up. He stood at attention, Porthos did the same, staring straight ahead.

The tall man walked further into the room standing before his captives who were now flanked by two men apiece. He sneered at them.

'Do you know who I am?'

They did not reply.

'I am Monsieur Mollet, and I do not expect to be cheated by the likes of you,' he glared at Porthos, looking down his nose.

Mollet had spoken in such a way that Porthos thought he was supposed to know the man. He did not. He glanced over at Aramis who looked just as blank at the name. The man clearly thought he was a big deal.

'I do not expect to be cheated by the lower classes who should respect their betters. And I especially do not expect to be cheated by your kind, you are from the gutters and should have been done away with years ago,' he paused, the man was so full of rage he could barely breath, 'you do not remember me, do you? Years ago, you robbed me and gave me this,' he indicated the scar across his face.

Porthos was still none the wiser, he had no recollection of the man. He had done many things that he was not proud of during his time at the Court but he did not recall causing anyone such a horrific disfigurement.

Mollet continued, 'And now Porthos of the Kings Musketeers,' he spat, 'I am going to have my revenge. I am going to do to you what you did to me…I can see that simply slashing you across the face will make no difference, I am going to thrash you, I am going to hurt you, you will know what it is to be maimed as I have been at your hand.'

Porthos did his very best not to react, he remained stoic and still. What worried Porthos was how Aramis would react. His friend had already tensed up and without looking at him Porthos could tell that Aramis was ready to take the man down single handed. When Aramis spoke, it was with such venom that Porthos shuddered.

'How dare you treat us like this. We are the Kings Musketeers and you will release us immediately. You have clearly wrongly accused this man, what proof have you that he attacked you years ago?'

Mollet looked at Aramis surprised at the outburst. After a few seconds, the man composed himself. He looked behind Aramis and nodded slightly. A swift movement followed by a cry of pain and Aramis crashed to floor, the man guarding him had kicked him in the knee. Porthos stepped forward but was grabbed by the men either side of him and forced to stay still despite trying to shake them off.

Aramis was already trying to stand, the man who had kicked him grabbed his arm and pulled him up. It was clear to Porthos that Aramis was favouring his right leg and trying to keep his expression defiant despite the obvious pain. Porthos sighed inwardly, when would the man learn to keep quiet. The amount of times his outspoken nature had brought trouble was getting ridiculous.

Mollet was seething. He stepped up to Aramis and poked him in the chest several times saying, 'I had been planning to put you somewhere more befitting your class. But as you are so keen to defend that,' he pointed at Porthos, 'you can share his fate…although you clearly need to learn your place as well.'

Mollet paused and looked at the men either side of Aramis, 'see to it that he learns his lesson…but bear in mind we will have to return him alive.'

Porthos struggled against the men holding him, but they had too good a grip on his arms. They pushed him back against the wall and held him there firmly.

The man holding Aramis up kicked him in the knee again, causing him to fall to his knees. The second man pushed him over and proceeded to kick him several times in the chest. The assault was too quick for Aramis to do anything but try to curl up and protect his head with his arms. The kicks continued for a few seconds before Mollet raised his hand. The man stood back. Aramis remained where he was curled up and breathing hard. At least he was breathing thought Porthos.

Mollet came to stand in front of Porthos, who did not even look at the man, keeping his eyes on Aramis.

'I shall have you both flogged before I let you go, consequences be damned.'

Mollet turned to leave, but turned back and spat at Porthos. The spittle landing on his face. Porthos, with difficulty remained still, his focus on Aramis. One of the men trained a gun on Porthos as the others trailed out of the room following their master, once everyone else was out the man with the gun backed out as well. Porthos was moving before the door had been shut and bolted again.

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D'Artagnan and Athos left the garrison with no real plan, as they walked through the street towards the tavern. The city was already busy with street stalls laid out and people buying and selling and going about their daily business.

Heading towards the tavern they walked passed a few people who gave them filthy looks. Normal behaviour for certain members of the city. D'Artagnan had found it quite disturbing to begin with, but now he barely noticed. Most people respected the Kings Musketeers. Most people. Those that had issues generally had something to hide, some nefarious scheme they needed to keep shady.

The tavern, The Peacock, was one that they frequented often. The landlord was amiable and knew that any breakages would be paid for. Athos generally saw to it, even paying up when he had not been involved. D'Artagnan was always amused at the way Athos did not complain about using his own money to tidy up after his comrades.

The room was nearly empty at this time in the morning. A couple of regulars, who never seemed to leave, slouched in the corner or bent over a table. D'Artagnan wondered if they slept at their places and just existed on ale.

The landlord, Clavette, looked up as they entered. He was a swarthy man, used to dealing with wayward drinkers. He had been a soldier and understood the need for the men to let off steam but was always ready to throw them out if they went too far. He tolerated the Red Guard, as they were loose with their money but he welcomed the musketeers, not just because they always paid their debts, at least Athos did, but they were the ones that he admired the most. He respected them and enjoyed their company.

'Monsieur Athos, Monsieur d'Artagnan, you are in early today,' he said brightly before he noted their expressions.

'Have the other two got themselves into trouble? I can assure you when they left here all was well…as well as could be expected.'

'What do you mean?' Athos asked placing his hat on the bar. D'Artagnan took up a position where he could watch the room but also take in the conversation between Athos and Clavette.

'Porthos has been playing with fire with his card games lately. And I warned him.'

This peaked their interest, Athos leaned in closer listening keenly. D'Artagnan had expected the landlord to say that their missing friends had stumbled off drunk and were sleeping it off in a doorway somewhere.

'He'd played a few games with a man who I didn't like the look of,' continued Clavette, 'a couple of night ago this man, great scar across his face came in asking about musketeers, particularly Porthos, he was able to describe your dark-skinned friend so I knew who he meant. At the time, I couldn't see any harm in saying that Porthos frequented here often to play cards. The man seemed amiable enough and paid me for my time. The next night he came in again, but as Porthos wasn't here he became angry and accused me of lying to him. But last night when he returned Porthos, and Aramis, were already here. Aramis was sat over there,' Clavette indicated a table by the wall, 'and Porthos was already well into a game with one of my regulars at that table.'

'And this man joined them?' asked Athos thinking ahead trying to guess what had happened.

'Yes. Of course Porthos was cheating, he had lost a bit last time he was in,' said Clavette with a fond smile, 'the scarred man caught him cheating and made quite a scene. Aramis stepped in and it got a bit heated…so I threw them all out,' he paused looking at each of them in turn, 'perhaps I did the wrong thing?' when Athos did not respond he continued, '…I don't know…but that was the last I saw of them.'

D'Artagnan sighed, they were no closer to finding their friends. But there could still be an innocent explanation. At least he hoped there was.

The door opened, a slight man entered, he looked around. When he saw Athos at the bar talking to Clavette he stopped. He looked over towards d'Artagnan and took a step back, a brief look of shock on his face. D'Artagnan took a step forward, the new arrival took another step back reaching for the door.

'There's the other man, who Porthos was playing with, hey, Geron…,' called Clavette.

Geron tuned, pulled the door open, and disappeared outside. D'Artagnan did not waste any time, he tore off after the man. He guessed that Athos would be following.

Geron was just turning left into a smaller road, d'Artagnan pursued. He was confident he would catch the man. Geron had quite a ratty look about him. He was skinny and looked unkempt.

As d'Artagnan turned the corner he saw the man disappearing around another corner a little further along the road. He sped up, not wanting to lose the man. He was aware of Athos' footsteps behind him.

He reached the corner slowing slightly to make the bend. As he turned the sun was in his eyes and he did not see the piece of wood swung at chest height. He fell, hard, on his back, the wind knocked out of him. His sword clattered out of his hand. He had not even realised he had drawn it. The action so automatic.

As he took a gasp of breath he squinted up, the sun still blinding him. He made to get up only to find the point of his own sword at his throat. The sun was blocked out, the ratty man standing above him menacingly.

D'Artagnan felt the tip of the sword pressing into his flesh.

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Aramis could do nothing but wait out the assault. The kicks were forceful, but he was aware the man was holding back a little. He stopped and Aramis could breathe again, although it hurt. It could have been a lot worse. He heard the door close and was aware of Porthos by him in the same instant.

'Aramis?' Porthos said softly, his hands gently pulling him out of his curled up defensive pose.

He hissed in pain as Porthos started moving his hands around his body looking for injuries.

'Porthos stop, I'm fine, well not fine, but not as bad as you seem to think I am.'

'You're an idiot.'

Porthos gently pulled the marksman up into a sitting position and helped him back over to the wall and leaned him against it. Aramis tried to protest as Porthos began feeling his chest for any broken ribs.

'Nothing is broken, bruised yes, but not broken.'

Porthos sat back, 'what about your leg?'

Aramis tried moving his left leg and again hissed in pain despite trying not to.

'I don't think anything serious, but yes it does hurt,' he admitted.

'Can it bear weight, if we need to run I need to know if you'll be running with me?'

'Help me up.'

Aramis held out his arm and Porthos grabbed it and eased him forward before putting his arm around his shoulders and slowly pulling his friend up. Aramis knew it would hurt but he needed to placate Porthos by proving he could at least stand up on his own. His bruised ribs protested at the activity, but he made it up.

Putting weight on his left leg, now that was a different proposition entirely. Just resting it on the floor was painful, he gradually put more pressure on it, shaking as the pain grew steadily. Porthos shook his head, clearly angry.

'Well you did say this was your fault,' said Aramis with a grin.

Aramis did not expect the anger on Porthos' face to intensify at the remark, he thought Porthos would take the comment as he had intended; something to break the tension. No, Porthos took the comment completely the other way. Porthos stood very close to Aramis.

'My fault? This is not my fault, this is your fault. If you learnt to keep quiet occasionally we wouldn't get in anywhere near as much trouble as we do. If you learnt to think before you acted we wouldn't be in this situation, where we can't escape because you're injured.'

Aramis was quite stunned at Porthos' sudden anger towards him. He agreed with what he was saying but did not think it was the time for his friend to be berating him. He opened his mouth to speak only to find himself pushed hard into the wall by the big musketeer. He could not help a sharp intake of breath as his bruised ribs protested at the sudden and forceful movement.

'This. Is. Your. Fault.'

With each word Porthos pulled Aramis forward then pushed him back into the wall, hard. Porthos was so angry he seemed to have forgotten their predicament and Aramis' injuries. Aramis knew that Porthos did not really mean to hurt him but he could not stop the furious man's assault.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

'There's the other man, who Porthos was playing with, hey, Geron…,' called Clavette.

Athos turned towards the door, he had heard it open behind him but was so intent on gleaning information from Clavette that he had not bothered to turn, confident that d'Artagnan was keeping an eye on the room. The younger musketeer was crossing the room rapidly after the disappearing man. Athos grabbed his hat and followed.

As he reached the street he saw d'Artagnan turn a corner and disappear. Athos followed at a run, anxious to catch up with his friend and their quarry. The fact that Geron had run was interesting. He clearly did not want to hang around once he realised that two musketeers would like to speak to him. The fact that he had been involved in an altercation with two other musketeers the previous night made him a man Athos very much wanted to talk to.

He was gaining on d'Artagnan who had slowed slightly as he turned another corner. Some sixth sense told him to slow down for the corner, he drew his gun as he did so. Perhaps he had heard d'Artagnan fall, he did not know, but he was prepared when he reached the corner. His gun ready.

D'Artagnan was flat on his back gasping staring up at Geron who was stood over him. The man was holding d'Artagnan's sword, the point at the downed man's throat.

Athos calmly aimed his gun at Geron saying, 'if you value your life, you will drop that sword and stand back. Do not run. I will have no issues with shooting you in the back.'

Geron looked at Athos, fear in his eyes. His hand waivered for a second then he dropped the sword harmlessly to his side and stepped back. D'Artagnan scrambled away, grabbing his sword and pulling himself up using a nearby wall for support.

Athos noted that, although still catching his breath the young man was alright. He turned his attention back to the quivering form of Geron who had gone quite pale.

'It wasn't me, I…I didn't know they would…you know…I didn't mean to hit him…knocked him out…didn't mean it,' the man stammered and mumbled trying to get his words out.

'If you did not mean it, then you have nothing to worry about do you?' said Athos, 'what happened last night? We know you were playing cards with one of our friends.'

'Um…he was cheatin' and the other man, the one with the scar, he saw, and he was mad…and then the landlord threw us out onto the street,' he paused for breath, 'and then he wanted to fight the musketeers. I thought, if I helped the scarred man, he might give me some money.'

'Go on,' said Athos, wishing the man were slightly more coherent.

'Well, he 'ad men didn't he, lots of men, they started fightin' with the musketeers and even though they were outnumbered they looked like they were going to win…so…um…'

'What?' Athos was growing impatient with the man. He wanted the end of the story and he wanted to properly check that d'Artagnan was alright. His comrade was still breathing hard and was leaning on the wall, although he did appear to be ready with his sword.

'I hit him.'

'Who did you hit?'

'The other one, not the big one what was playing cards, the other one. I hit him from behind, he went down and the other one was distracted and they disarmed him.'

Putting the pieces together Athos guessed that, once overpowered and with Aramis presumably unconscious Porthos had been given no choice but to surrender.

Geron was speaking again, clearly keen to tell Athos everything he knew, 'they made the big one pick up the one I knocked out and they went off down the alley way. I went to follow, but the scarred one gave me a look that told me I wasn't welcome…I didn't mean to hit him that hard, I thought I would just knock him off balance.'

'Rather like you did with my friend there,' said Athos indicating d'Artagnan who was finally standing on his own and not leaning on the wall.

'Yeah,' said the man with a contrite tone.

'Now,' said Athos, 'this is where you can, perhaps, redeem yourself.'

Geron looked up eager to help.

'Did you happen to get the scarred man's name?'

Geron's face lit up, 'yes,' he said.

Athos nodded for him to continue.

'Mollet.'

Athos lowered his gun.

'Thank you, now disappear, and when we have found our men I would suggest you not be around. The man you hit may not be as forgiving as I.'

Geron paused for a moment, looking between the two men. Both looked displeased. He turned and walked quickly away, breaking into a run as he got to the next corner.

Athos turned to d'Artagnan raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

'Yes I'm fine…sorry, he took me by surprise, I hadn't thought he had it in him.'

'Never underestimate a frightened man.'

They turned back the way they had come. Once they reached The Peacock they skirted round to the alley where the fight must have taken place. Athos took one side whilst d'Artagnan searched the other.

'Aramis' hat,' said d'Artagnan picking up the slightly muddied hat, Aramis would not be pleased it had become dirty.

They walked on and turned into another relatively quiet road. Athos noted fresh marks from a carriage, the horse's hooves indicating which way it had gone.

'Have you heard of this Mollet before?' asked d'Artagnan.

'No,' replied Athos, 'let's ask Clavette if he has any more information about this scarred man.'

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Porthos was so angry it was as if he was actually seeing red. How could Aramis say that this was his fault. The man had brought this on himself. His stupid inability to keep quiet, his need to rush in and not think about his actions. More times than he could count Aramis' actions had landed them in trouble or danger. And now he had been beaten up because of his own idiocy. What chance did they have of escaping now? The man could not stand, let alone walk or run or fight. And his actions had infuriated their captor into wanting to mete out the same treatment to Aramis as was originally meant for him alone.

'This. Is. Your. Fault.'

Pushing his friend into the wall with each word felt good, perhaps he could knock some sense into him.

No.

The realisation of what he was doing hit him. He stopped and stared at Aramis who was staring back at him. Aramis was staring at him with a more shocked expression than he had ever seen on the marksman. Aramis was still breathing hard and had not tried to fight back once. Porthos let go.

Aramis yelped and crumpled to the floor his leg giving out as soon as it took his weight. Porthos moved forward again, reaching out, but Aramis knocked his hands away as he pushed himself into the corner of the room and glared at him. It was obvious Aramis was not ready for help, at least not from him.

Porthos stalked off to the other corner and sat down on the steps that led to the door. He took a few deep breaths and put his head in his hands as he replayed the last couple of minutes.

When he looked up again Aramis was still staring at him but his expression was one of concern.

'I'm sorry,' they both said at the same time.

'Why are you sorry I just pinned you to the wall and shouted at you?'

'This,' Aramis indicated himself, taking in his injured knee and bruised ribs, 'is my fault.'

Porthos managed a smile, then said, 'but this,' he indicated the room they were being held in, 'is my fault.'

The tension fizzled out. The sat in their respective corners silently apologising for their actions, knowing that they had to remain united against their captor. Porthos knew he would have to deal with his actions, but now they needed to concentrate on escape.

'Do you know Mollet? I mean, did you…'

'Attack him? Don't remember. I did some bad things back then but I'd remember doing that,' he made a slicing motion across his face to indicate the scar on Mollet's.

Porthos thought for a few moments, 'although there was one time, I was acting as look out, some of the others were looking to grab a few money bags and purses. I remember watching one man fight back, they pushed him into an alley, I didn't see what 'appened, but they came out running bloody fast and,' he paused realisation dawning on his face, 'as they ran passed me one of them called out 'run Porthos'…it must have been then. My name was what he remembered.'

They lapsed into silence. After a few minutes Porthos moved back to Aramis and sat down next to him again. He noted that Aramis' breathing was still a bit laboured.

'Are you sure none of your ribs are broken?'

'Yes, but now my back is also bruised,' the statement was not accusatory.

'Sorry.'

'It's OK. I probably deserved it.'

Porthos was not so sure, guilt already starting to eat away at him.

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Athos and d'Artagnan returned to The Peacock. Clavette was still at the bar, the two regulars were still in the same place. The only real difference was a bar maid was now busy cleaning the tables and sweeping the floor.

'Did you catch him?'

'Yes, thank you, he was…most informative. Although we may have scared him away from your establishment, for that I apologies,' replied Athos with a slight dip of his head.

'Not an issue, he barely drank anything anyway.'

'He said the scarred man's name was Mollet. Does that mean anything to you?'

'No, but he did speak to Sarah a few times,' said Clavette indicating the bar maid.

Athos nodded at d'Artagnan who walked over to the young girl who was busy sweeping. She smiled at the young man, recognising him.

'Good morning sir, can I help you with something?'

'Good morning Sarah,' said d'Artagnan, 'you might well be able to help me, Clavette says that you were speaking with a man last night, a man with a scar across his face.'

Sarah's smile disappeared, she looked worried. D'Artagnan put his hand on her arm and smiled to reassure her.

'He was, not very pleasant. He kept grabbing me, I tried to keep away from him. I'm used to some of the men getting a bit frisky but Clavette sees to it they don't go too far. But that man was a bit rough.'

She paused, shuddering at the memory.

'We think he may have done something to Porthos and Aramis, do you remember him saying anything that might lead us to where he is?'

'Oh…um,' she paused thinking, 'one of his men said something about wishing they could stay in Paris longer, that the house on…no…he didn't say the name of the road he said it was near the church, you know the one with the lovely window at the front with the birds on.'

D'Artagnan smiled, he knew the church she meant and he was fairly sure he knew the house. It had been empty for some time, waiting for a new tenant. Perhaps Mollet had moved in temporarily.

'Thank you, Sarah,' he said. He turned to go back to Athos when she put her hand on his sleeve.

'I also heard him, the scarred man, say that he wanted his revenge on Porthos, when he caught Porthos cheating I think he just used that as an excuse to get into an argument with them.'

With the information, he had gained from Sarah, d'Artagnan returned to Athos. Once he had updated his fellow musketeer they both took their leave and walked back out onto the street. But this time, they knew where they were going.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The house was well appointed on a wealthy street. D'Artagnan had described it to Athos. He had needed to visit a neighbouring property on behalf of the King a month before. At the time, this house was empty.

Now it was occupied. There were two armed men sat in the court yard as the two musketeers walked in. The men rose and started to walk toward them. Athos had his hand on his sword as the men approached.

'What do you want?' asked one of the men, his tone unpleasant.

'To see your master,' said Athos with all the air of a nobleman addressing men far beneath him. The man sneered.

'He's busy, you can't see 'im.'

'I think he will see a Kings Musketeer. Fetch him.'

The man looked a little perplexed. Athos thought he heard d'Artagnan stifle a laugh.

'It's alright, I'll deal with them, back to your post,' commanded a man as he walked down the steps from the house. The man was tall with a scar across his face. They had found Mollet.

'Monsieur Mollet?' asked Athos with a slight bow. It was best to be cordial, until they could not be.

'Yes. What business do you have here? I am only in Paris for a couple more days before I return to my estate.'

The man was very dismissive, he wanted them gone.

'We are looking for two friends of ours. We have reason to believe you may know their whereabouts,' Athos got straight to the point.

'I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about. Now will you leave?'

D'Artagnan was about to say something but Athos put his hand up to stop him.

'Thank you for your time.'

He turned and walked out with d'Artagnan in tow.

They walked along the road a little, then turned into an alcove by the church. Athos indicated for d'Artagnan to press himself against the wall. They peered round at the gates of the house.

'What are we doing? We could have searched the house.'

'No, he is hiding something and I think it has to do with the outhouse those two men were guarding. Who has armed men in their courtyard?' said Athos, 'besides there were too many of them, there were others in the house. I want you to return to the garrison, update Treville and return, discreetly, with more men. Have them spread out along this road, hidden, I think we need to observe the house for a bit. He will not do anything for a while, so soon after our visit.'

Still clutching Aramis' hat d'Artagnan nodded and slipped away.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Aramis' breathing had settled and he was sleeping, leaning on Porthos. Porthos was not too comfortable but knew that Aramis needed the rest more than he did. They had been in the dim room for some hours now. He had watched a tiny chink of, sun light from the door move across the floor, it must have been well into the afternoon.

They had not been visited again, at one point he thought he had heard voices outside but they were too far away to make out. Several escape plans had passed across his mind but none would work due to Aramis' injuries. He had decided to plead with Mollet when he did turn up again. He was not averse to begging to get the disagreeable man to let Aramis go. It was him that Mollet had the issue with; this vendetta. Why should Aramis suffer any more? Aramis would protest, he knew, but he had to at least try. He did not like the idea of his friend being hurt further. Especially as some of the injuries were his doing.

A noise outside caught his attention. He nudged Aramis awake. Porthos scrambled to his feet, then helped Aramis up. The marksman was forced to lean against the wall, but the show of unity felt good after their recent disagreement.

The bolts of the door were drawn back and the door pushed open. The man with the gun was the first to enter silhouetted by the setting sun behind him, closely followed by the others. Mollet entered last, he pushed the door closed behind him blocking out the sun and returning them to the dim light.

Mollet carried a lash, held loosely in his hand, a rod with several narrow leather straps dangling from the end. He looked pleased with himself, he was actually smiling.

'I have been looking forward to this.'

Porthos took a slight step to the side trying to put himself in front of Aramis.

'Look, Mollet,' he said, hoping to placate the man, 'I remember you now. But I wasn't the one that hurt you. I'm sorry you were hurt, but it wasn't me.'

Mollet continued to smile at Porthos, 'I know it wasn't you. But you were there. And you will pay…'

Mollet turned to his men who advanced. Porthos was ready to fight, Aramis pushed himself off the wall ready to lend what help he could.

'At least let my friend go, he had nothing to do with this,' said Porthos with urgency looking at Mollet.

Mollet laughed.

'No. And you can watch him being flogged first, I need to warm up a bit. I haven't needed to flog anyone for a few years, my men are loyal…I'll go easy on him, just for you,' he finished sarcastically.

Mollet's men advanced quickly, despite Porthos' best efforts he was quickly caught and pushed roughly to his knees and held there by three of the men. He struggled and shouted but it did no good. Aramis was grabbed by the fourth man and thrown forward, his leg giving way, he fell to the floor with a yelp of pain, clutching at his knee.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

D'Artagnan had been quick. He had charged into the garrison and found Treville in his usual place, observing his men. Treville had met him on the stairs, listened attentively to what d'Artagnan had to say and nodded.

Treville had ordered for men to ready themselves, told them what they needed to do and where they had to go. It was done in a matter of minutes. D'Artagnan had taken the brief respite to catch his breath and grab a drink. He gave Aramis' hat to Serge for safe keeping.

When he returned to Athos he found the man in the same place watching intently. The courtyard was quiet apart from the two armed men who were ostensibly not doing anything, but were, to the trained eye, guarding the outhouse. The door of which had bolts drawn firmly across.

'Any change?'

'Nothing.'

'The men are spread out. Hidden in doorways and alleyways, we have the house surrounded. They just need my signal and we can advance.'

'Good,' replied Athos, not taking his eyes off the outhouse, 'I do not think we will have long to wait long.'

Evan as he spoke there were signs of activity. Several men walked down the steps of the house into the courtyard, they were all armed. There were horses in the courtyard, the armed men walked over to the horses and began saddling them and preparing them to leave.

Mollet was the next to appear, he was with four other men, only one of which was armed. Mollet, however, was carrying a lash and looked pleased with himself. He gestured to the two guards at the door to the outhouse and they left their post and went over to the horses.

One of the men with Mollet unbolted the door and stood back as the man with the gun entered followed by the other men. Mollet entered last.

'I think it is time to act,' said Athos peeling away from his hiding place and heading across the road.

D'Artagnan gave the signal and followed Athos drawing his guns as he went.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Aramis struggled to right himself, he pushed himself onto his knees. Not a good idea when one of them was radiating white hot pain. But he needed to get up, needed to fight back. He just had time to lift his head and see Mollet raise his hand with the vicious looking lash held high. As the lash was brought down with force Aramis managed to raise his left arm. The leather straps at the end of the rod wrapped around his arm, he grabbed the rod and pulled Mollet off balance towards him.

Mollet was forced to take a step forward but reacted quickly, bringing his back leg up to kick Aramis hard. Catching the already injured man's shoulder Mollet used the force of the kick to push Aramis over onto his back.

Aramis used the momentum to turn over onto his side and start to rise again. But this time Mollet was ready for him. He kicked out again hitting Aramis in the right side and knocking the air out of him. Aramis collapsed momentarily stunned and being forced to gasp a few times for air. His ribs screaming in pain, the bruises on his back complaining in unison.

Mollet took the opportunity to raise his arm again and bring the lash down, hard, across Aramis' back. If Aramis had the breath he would have cried in pain. The lash was brought down again and again. Aramis did not bother to count. The thin fabric of his shirt doing nothing to protect him. As before, he found himself curling up trying to become a smaller target.

He was vaguely aware of Porthos' shouting and could sense the man was making his captors work to keep him in place as he struggled to free himself.

Aramis was thinking, between the pain of each lash, that maybe it was time to give up, stop tensing up every time Mollet hit him, just to embrace the darkness that was threatening him.

It seemed like a good idea. Just to let go.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

As they entered the courtyard they could hear shouting from the outhouse. D'Artagnan recognising Porthos voice straight away. They drew the attention of the men by the horses. The closest man drew his sword and started to head towards them, d'Artagnan swiftly dealt with the man, paying no more attention to him as he collapsed to the ground. The others charged forward, thinking that they were only facing two men. When a dozen musketeers entered the courtyard behind d'Artagnan and Athos the men were forced to spread out.

Athos headed directly towards the outhouse, d'Artagnan followed. The other musketeers were left to deal with the men in the courtyard. Porthos could still be heard shouting.

Athos reached the door first and, with a gun in his hand, he pushed it open.


	3. Chapter 3

Author note: Thanks for all the reviews. I hope you enjoy the last part. I have germ of an idea for a follow up, if you think it needs it, although it would be a little more light hearted than this one turned out to be.

Chapter three

Porthos shouted as Aramis was pushed forward and fell. He shouted as Mollet kicked his friend. He shouted when Mollet began beating Aramis with the lash. He struggled, he pulled, he twisted. Nothing could release him from the grip of the men who held him.

Aramis had tried to fight, Porthos had been proud when he saw Aramis grab the lash and shocked when Mollet had kicked out catching Aramis on the shoulder and forcing him over onto his back. His bruised back, bruises that he had put there. Porthos felt guilty that he had contributed to Aramis' injuries and that his actions were now costing his friend.

The gun shot, when it came, had made everyone in the room jump. So intent were they all on watching the ongoing assault, that none of them had noticed the door open.

Porthos was the first to react, he shrugged off the men holding him and scrambled forward to grab Aramis. He wanted to pull the man away from Mollet. He was heartened to see Aramis trying to drag himself out of harm's way, having reacted only a second or two after Porthos. Despite his injuries the man was still alert enough to realise that something significant had happened.

Neither man needed to have worried. The threat of Mollet was gone. He was dead, his body falling to the floor, the lash still in his hand.

The other men in the room did not move, they did not know what to do. Porthos glanced around, picking out the man with the gun, and realised he had left it leaning against the wall, he was no threat.

He looked over and saw the unmistakable silhouette of Athos framed by the door, the gun still levelled pointing at the space where Mollet's head had been.

Porthos hooked his arms under Aramis and dragged him, as gently as he could, towards the wall. Aramis used his good leg to help push himself away from Mollet. They were both panting.

In his usual calm, commanding tone Athos spoke, 'against the wall,' he indicated with the spent gun for Mollet's men to move to the far wall. They did so, knowing there was no point in fighting. Without their leader, they were directionless.

As Athos dealt with the men Porthos spoke quietly to Aramis, 'can you walk? We need to get you out of here.'

Aramis nodded, although he was obviously in pain and shaken by the beating he had just taken he too wanted to get out. Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis' waist and slowly pulled him up. He grabbed Aramis left arm and pulled it over his shoulder and manoeuvred him over to the door.

Athos had walked down the steps to give them room, he had picked up the gun that had been left against the wall and was now aiming it at the cowed men.

With difficulty and a few hisses of pain from Aramis, Porthos half dragged his friend up the steps and through the door. They both blinked in the afternoon sunlight.

The courtyard was littered with bodies. Mollet's men had been soundly defeated by the musketeers who had already begun to arrange the bodies for collection. A couple looked over at Porthos and Aramis. Porthos nodded in thanks to them.

D'Artagnan was at their side. He grabbed Aramis' other arm and helped them toward the house. The door was open, they entered the hallway. It was apparent that Mollet was only staying there temporarily, the place was sparsely furnished. A door to the right was ajar.

'In there,' Porthos said indicating the room.

D'Artagnan looked over at a chaise longue, but Porthos moved them over to the table and pulled out a chair, turning it round he manoeuvred Aramis onto it so that he was straddling the seat, leaning forward onto the backrest.

'He 'as injuries to his ribs and back,' said Porthos by way of explanation.

Porthos took in his friend, he had a sheen of sweat on him from the exertion of the walk from the outhouse to where he now sat. He was still panting, unable to take a deep breath as he clutched the back of the chair to keep himself upright. Porthos was worried that even though his ribs had not been broken earlier, that might be different now.

Aramis' shirt was torn in places and there were lines of blood where the lash had broken the skin. Porthos reached forward and grabbed a knife from the table. He started to cut the shirt off, Aramis was shaking, trying not to flinch as the material was peeled off the bloody cuts. Porthos sighed when he saw the state of his friends back. It could have been worse. The lash had not done as much damage as it could have. If the attack had gone on much longer Aramis would have been left with shredded skin that would probably never have healed properly.

A bowl of water and some linen was placed down on the table beside them. Porthos had not even noticed that d'Artagnan had disappeared. He glanced up grateful.

'Aramis?' asked Porthos, resting his hand on the man's shoulder. His injured friend had rested his forehead on the back of the chair once Porthos had finished cutting his shirt.

'Aramis, I need to clean your back, and wrap your ribs…it's not as bad as it could 'ave been.'

'I'm so pleased,' said Aramis quietly, the sarcasm bringing a hint of a smile to Porthos despite his continued feeling of guilt.

'Here,' said d'Artagnan handing Porthos a bottle of spirt he had liberated from Mollet's collection on a sideboard.

Porthos took a swig then handed the bottle to Aramis who took it with a shaking hand. He took a drink from the bottle and handed it back. Porthos noted that d'Artagnan was busying himself tearing the linen into strips.

'Ready?' asked Porthos.

Aramis nodded and grabbed hold of the chair, his knuckles white in anticipation of the pain. Porthos poured the spirit over the injured mans' back. A moan of pain escaped Aramis' lips but he remained upright. Porthos put the bottle down and grabbed one of the strips of fabric and after dipping it in the water began to clean the wounds.

Porthos tried to be as gentle as he could, it was difficult to avoid putting pressure on the bruises. They littered his friends back. He knew d'Artagnan had looked questionably at them. The bruises had clearly not been caused by the lash, any bruising from the lash would show up later. Only Porthos and Aramis knew how they had been caused. Porthos wondered if he would be able to tell the others exactly what had happened. Regardless of where the fault lay, he should not have assaulted Aramis. His anger, at the time, had clouded his judgement and his friend was suffering for it.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Athos handed over guarding duties to a couple of the musketeers that had fought Mollet's men in the courtyard. He looked across to the entrance of the house and saw Traville waiting for him. Once he had walked the short distance to the steps of the house they both nodded a greeting.

'Well?' asked Traville. He had not been there for the fight having arrived shortly afterwards.

'Aramis is injured, Porthos appears to be alright. They were being held in that outhouse,' Athos pointed across the courtyard, 'Mollet appeared to be readying to leave when we arrived. His men were saddling their horses. Mollet was in there,' again in indicated the outhouse, 'he was beating Aramis with a lash when I killed him.'

'Why Aramis? I thought the man had an issue with Porthos?' asked Treville confused.

'I do not know. They are in the house.'

Athos followed Treville into the house. Porthos was busy wrapping Aramis' torso firmly with bandages. Athos noted the lash marks and bruising to Aramis' back as the bandages covered them up. Aramis was straddling a chair as Porthos tended to him, his head was bowed and he was clearly in pain. D'Artagnan was hovering nearby, ready to be of assistance if he was needed.

They waited until Porthos had finished. D'Artagnan stepped forward and gently wrapped a blanket over Aramis shoulders then placed a cup of water into his hands.

Porthos rose, satisfied that his friend was in good care. He walked over to the others. Athos could tell he was troubled, he had a look of guilt about him.

'We know this was not due to you cheating at cards,' said Athos in an attempt to placate the man.

Porthos looked at him, he made an effort to hide the guilty look, but his eyes remained the same. A hint of culpability about them.

'But I am still responsible for us being taken. Even if it's for somethin' I did years ago.'

'Don't be ridiculous Porthos,' said Traville reaching up and placing his hand on the big musketeer's shoulder, 'you cannot be held responsible for something you did when you were younger, your circumstances were very different then.'

Athos crossed to Aramis who had sat up straighter as he listened to the exchange between Porthos and Traville. His eyes were focused, but his face showed the pain he was in and trying to hide from the others.

'What are your injuries?'

Aramis smiled, obviously appreciating the chance to answer for himself, 'bruised ribs, not broken, I'm sure of it. A badly bruised knee, I cannot put weight on my left leg and the cuts to my back from the lash...'

As Aramis trailed off with his reply Athos wondered why he had not mentioned the bruising to his back, he had been unusually honest with this reply up to that point. Athos doubted the man was unaware of the darkening marks across his back. He did not want to force the issue, but knew that something else had happened that neither man was willing to talk about yet.

'Can you ride? There are several horses in the yard, if we can get you on the back of one it would probably be the best way to get you back to the garrison.'

'Yes,' Aramis replied. His breathing was better, but he was still taking shallow breathes, the pain from his ribs making deeper breaths impossible for the time being, 'but I doubt it will be very graceful.'

'D'Artagnan, see if you can find him a shirt,' Athos paused and looked over to Porthos, 'where are your weapons?'

'Don't know they took 'em, and our jackets, when we first got here.'

'I'll have a look,' said d'Artagnan as he left the room.

Traville pulled out a chair and sat next to Aramis. Porthos stayed where he was watching as Traville engaged Aramis in conversation in an attempt to distract him for a few minutes from his injuries.

Athos stepped up to Porthos and said quietly, 'is there something else that you are not telling me?'

Porthos did not look at Athos at first, he briefly looked down then made eye contact. He was obviously troubled by something. Porthos indicated that he wanted to leave the room to talk. They quietly walked out to the courtyard.

After a pause as Porthos gathered his thoughts he spoke, 'he tried to defend me, he spoke out of turn when Mollet was accusing me of attacking him years ago. Mollet had him beaten…when they 'ad gone I got angry with 'im and slammed him into the wall…more than once,' Porthos took a shaky breath, 'I caused the bruises on 'is back.'

Athos let Porthos finish and considered his words for a few moments.

'You were in an extreme situation,' Athos held up a hand as Porthos was about to speak again, 'I am sure Aramis will not hold it against you. You are clearly contrite about what you did. When Aramis is fit you should talk with him properly and clear the air. I do not want you dwelling on this.'

Porthos did not react he looked away, clearly still troubled. Athos realised the man needed to be kept busy for the time being.

'Bring a couple of the horses over. You can ride next to Aramis, he will probably need an eye kept on him. I am not sure how much longer he can last before he passes out.'

Porthos nodded and started out across the courtyard towards the horses. Athos returned to the house.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Aramis knew he was fast running out of time. When Mollet had been shot he had felt a surge of energy rush through him, he had been able to help push himself away as Porthos had grabbed him. He had been able, with a lot of help to get up the steps and out onto the court yard. He had even managed to remain conscious when Porthos had cleaned his back and bandaged his ribs. But now after being inelegantly manhandled up on to a horse he could feel his reserves rapidly depleting.

It was not far to the garrison and a bed in the infirmary, Porthos was riding very close by, their legs had brushed against each other more than once. He knew Porthos was keeping a close eye on him, probably suspecting that he would pass out at any moment.

Aramis was determined to hang on, at least until they were off the streets and in the relative privacy of the garrison.

Porthos had been quiet on the journey back. The horses were walking slowly, both men knew Aramis would not have been able to cope with anything more, his injured knee making it impossible for him to grip the horses flank firmly. Aramis wished Porthos would speak, even an idle conversation about the weather would have done. Anything to distract him. But Porthos remained quiet.

Aramis knew why. He had been aware of Porthos and Athos disappearing outside to talk. He guessed that Porthos was confessing to their friend what had happened between them. Despite the apology that Porthos had made, despite Aramis accepting that he was to blame as well, Porthos was still holding the guilt. He had not accepted that Aramis had forgiven him, did not blame him, did not want him to feel guilty.

Porthos had assaulted him in the heat of the moment. He could not count the amount of times one of their little band had shoved another, even knocked each other down in anger. It was generally done when they were worried about the other's actions. Which was exactly what had happened today. Porthos really did not need to continue to dwell on it. If his energy were not being directed towards his desire to remain upright he probably would have berated Porthos by now. It would have to wait.

They entered the garrison and Aramis sighed with relief. Porthos was off his horse and reaching up to guide Aramis down in seconds. His injured leg giving away as soon as he was on the ground. With a grunt Porthos took Aramis' weight and guided him to the infirmary. The room was empty. Two beds were made up. Aramis guessed that Treville had prepared for them, not knowing if either of the two captured men would be injured.

Porthos helped him to sit on the edge of the bed and began pulling off the injured man's boots and stockings.

'Porthos…'

Porthos did not look up.

'Porthos, please.'

'I'm sorry. I can't.'

'Porthos, I'm going to be fine…I hurt, I'm going to need to rest, but I am going to be fine.'

Porthos helped Aramis out of his breeches before gently lifting his legs onto the bed so that he could look at his injured knee. Aramis was surprised at how swollen and darkly bruised it was, no wonder it was so painful. The kicks he had received were both to the same spot and had been hard.

'There really isn't anything you can do for the knee,' said Aramis, still trying to get Porthos to look at him, 'a cool cloth to try and reduce the swelling perhaps…' he paused, 'please talk to me.'

Remaining silent Porthos walked over to the table at the side of the room to collect the bowl of water and other medical supplies that had been laid out ready.

He knelt down by the bed and socked a cloth in the water and gently laid it over Aramis' knee. Aramis tried not to react, but even the act of placing the cloth over his injured leg hurt him. Porthos hesitated.

'It's alright Porthos,' Aramis was losing patience quickly. He wanted to make peace with Porthos, but knew that his need for sleep was overtaking him fast, he could feel his eyelids drooping. He lay back, it was uncomfortable, but sleeping on his stomach, on his bruised ribs, would be impossible.

As he began to embrace the darkness that sleep would bring he heard Porthos shift from the floor and a blanket laid over him. He was too close to sleep to react when his friend spoke again.

'I'm sorry…I just need a little time to accept what I did to you.'

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Athos reached for the cup of wine, he had almost finished the bottle that he had brought with him. He looked over as Aramis stirred. The injured man had not slept well, he was clearly uncomfortable, at one point he had turned on his side but that seemed to hurt his injured knee. When he had rolled back he had moaned in pain.

Porthos had stayed until Aramis was asleep and then had slipped out of the room. Athos had tried to encourage him to join d'Artagnan and himself at the table in the garrison yard but he had simply shaken his head and walked out of the garrison and into the city. D'Artagnan had wanted to go after him but Athos had stopped him. It was clear that Porthos wanted to be alone. Instead d'Artagnan and he had taken it in turns to sit with Aramis in the infirmary in case the injured man had needed them.

'Where's Porthos?' asked Aramis. Athos had not noticed that he had woken up fully this time.

'I don't know. He went off after you fell asleep. We thought it best to let him go.'

'He wouldn't speak to me. He's blaming himself. I told him several times that I brought it on myself, that it wasn't him.'

'I think he accepts that Mollet beating you is your own fault,' said Athos with a wry smile, 'but you did not deserve to be assaulted by Porthos.'

Aramis looked away, 'but I have said I don't blame him…several times.'

Athos did not say anything, there was nothing he could say.

'Why won't he accept that?'

'I don't know.'

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

A few hours later Aramis had managed to get up and dressed, with help from d'Artagnan. He was very stiff and could not more very fast. D'Artagnan had found a walking stick for him and after a few false starts he had managed to make it across the yard to the table where he now sat drinking wine and eating some bread and cheese that Serge had put in front of him.

Aramis watched the garrison gate, watching for Porthos to return. He wanted to talk to him again. He needed the stubborn man to know that he did not blame him, could not blame him for what had happened. Their friendship meant more to him than this minor indiscretion under difficult circumstances.

It was not the first time that either man had been angry with the other. It was the first time that one had assaulted the other to such an extent, but that was not what bothered Aramis. What bothered him was that Porthos did not seem to be able to accept that he had been forgiven. Aramis wanted his friend back, wanted his brother. It had only been a few hours but it felt like days.

When Porthos did appear at the gate he saw Aramis sitting at the table looking over at him, he had paused and if Athos had not called him over to the other side of the garrison where he had been sparring with a cadet the man may have simply turned and walked out again. Aramis watched as Athos spoke to Porthos, wondering what they were saying.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

'Go and talk to him,' said Athos.

'I can't Athos…I assaulted him.'

'And he has forgiven you…and from he says he tried to talk to you yesterday and you would not speak to him.'

Porthos did not reply, he glanced over at Aramis and noted that he was watching with concern.

'You do realise that if you keep this up he is going to start blaming himself? He wants to get back to normal, and you are preventing it by stubbornly refusing to let the matter drop. We know that what you did was wrong, but it was done in the heat of the moment, you were reacting to Aramis' own stupidity. Now go over there, sit down with the man and have a drink with him. Talk to him,' Porthos was about to protest, 'not about what happened yesterday if you don't want to. But talk to him about something. This self-loathing needs to stop,' finished Athos firmly.

Porthos looked at Athos. Athos could see a change in his eyes. Perhaps he had got through to the man. Porthos nodded and turned and walked towards Aramis.

Athos watched as Porthos settled himself on the bench next to Aramis. Aramis poured a cup of wine for his friend and pushed the plate of bread and cheese in his direction. After a few minutes, they were deep in conversation, the tension disappearing from each man as they did so.

Athos left them to it, knowing that it might take a few days but they would be fine.

The End.


End file.
